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I got out of bed and went to stand under the shower, turning the water as hot as it would go while I tried to wash away the feeling of his hands on me, the memory of his voice saying he wasn’t going anywhere.

The water didn’t help. Nothing helped.

The truth was that he was going somewhere, back downstairs to manage this crisis, back into the carefully constructed life where I didn’t fit, where I had never been supposed to fit.

By the time I made it downstairs to the team breakfast, the mood was tense enough to cut with a knife. Everyone had their phones out, everyone had seen the story, and there was that particular energy that came when a scandal was still developing, when nobody knew yet how bad it was going to get.

Max wasn’t here. Neither was Kinkaid.

I sat next to Cole, who immediately leaned over and spoke quietly.

“You know anything about this?”

“No,” I lied, and it was such an easy lie that I almost believed it myself. “Just another tabloid story.”

Cole didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. He just nodded and went back to his eggs, and I was grateful for it in a way I didn’t want to examine too closely.

The morning light skate at the Vegas arena was called off. Kinkaid sent a message through one of the assistant coaches that we were meeting an hour early before the game, with a media blackout and everyone’s phones off.

It was the kind of damage control that only happened when something had gone very wrong, very fast.

The locker room before the meeting was silent in a way that made my skin crawl. Guys sat in their stalls pretending to stretch, pretending to check their gear, pretending they hadn’t all read the same articles and seen the same photos.

Taranis was the only one who looked completely unbothered, but then again, Taranis always looked unbothered.

Cole kept glancing at me, and I could feel the weight of whatever he wasn’t saying pressing down like a physical thing. I focused on my skates, lacing them with more attention than they deserved, and tried not to think about how many times I was going to have to relive last night before the day was over.

Kinkaid arrived with Max trailing behind him, and I didn’t have to look up to know it. I could feel Max the way I’d been feeling him since I woke up in his bed, like a gravitational pull, like something fundamental in my chest had rewired itself to know exactly where he was at all times.

It was terrifying.

“Everyone,” Kinkaid said, and his voice cut through the careful pretense of normalcy like a blade. “We’ve got a situation.”

Max stood beside him, his face carefully neutral, and I noticed he was wearing the team hoodie, the one that marked him as captain, armor made of fabric and position. His jaw was tight, but otherwise, he gave nothing away.

“There’s a tabloid story making the rounds,” Kinkaid continued. “Some of you have probably seen it, but it’s going to get worse before it gets better. I’m going to be very clear: you don’t comment on it. You don’t speculate about it. You don’t talk to media about it. Our PR team is handling it, and that’s all anyone needs to know.”

He paused, letting that sink in, and I could feel the tension ratcheting up another notch.

Going to get worse? How could it? What else was happening?

“Max and I have discussed what happened,” Kinkaid said, and I watched Max’s shoulders tighten imperceptibly. “The situation is being resolved. Our focus right now is on the game tonight. We’ve got Vegas in front of us, and we’re going to show them what we’re made of. That’s where your heads need to be. Understood?”

A chorus of quiet acknowledgments rippled through the room. Kinkaid nodded, satisfied, and turned to leave, but Max stayed where he was for just a second longer. His eyes found me across the room before he followed the coach out.

That look cost me something. I felt it like a physical blow, that connection, that reminder of everything that had happened last night and everything that was already being destroyed by the weight of reality.

“Well, that was ominous,” Keegan said quietly.

I realized he was sitting next to me now and had no idea when that had happened. He was watching me with those too-bright blue eyes.

“You good?”

“Fine,” I said, and it was automatic now, the lie so smooth it didn’t even require conscious effort anymore. “Just thinking about the game tonight.”

He didn’t believe me. I could tell by the way he didn’t push, by the way he just nodded and went back to his own skates.

Cole was still watching me, though, and I could feel the weight of his attention like a question I wasn’t ready to answer.